


Need To Break A Few Eggs

by CoffeeAndConjunctions



Series: A Relationship As Told By Meals [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7014547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeAndConjunctions/pseuds/CoffeeAndConjunctions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have to be more careful.”</p><p> </p><p>“S'just a cut--” popping the thumb out of her mouth she lets the Widow take a stinging swipe with the wipe and but a bandaid on her (they are Avenger's theme, this one had tiny Cap shields on it)</p><p> </p><p>Giving her a look she goes to the rubbish bin to throw out the wrappings, turning back she steals a strawberry from the carton, chewing on it thoughtfully as if choosing her words.</p><p> </p><p>“Lingchi is the art of the slow death, a Chinese practice which wasn't outlawed until 1905—roughly it translates to Death by One Thousand Cuts. Don't underestimate a small cut just because the other's haven't come yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is this some kind of warning or a pep talk cause honestly I'm a little confused. Could be the blood loss.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need To Break A Few Eggs

 

x. Need To Break A Few Eggs

Darcy wasn't by nature a particularly patient person outside of the kitchen, she fidgeted and toe tapped her way through inaction (she was a hummer, filling long silences and car rides with ever changing notes as musical whimsy took her), so she tried to emulate herself when waiting for a cheesecake to be ready pull it out too soon or two early and you ruined it.

Patience and observation was key.

Only cheesecake didn't make her feel like mouse cornered by particularly feral alley cat, the slow blinking eyes and the predatory tilt of his head made her realize what an effort Bucky put into being nonthreatening (with his slightly hunched shoulders and unhurried movement), between the powerful build of his body and the unwavering gaze the Soldier put her on edge. Walking in she had not known what to expect (she knew what she hoped and in her mind she could hear Natasha telling her that fairytales aren't real) but the stifling silence was not it.

 

His eyes ran over her in near mockery of how he'd looked at her the night of the Charity Ball, eyes assessing only instead of admiration it seemed as if he was taking stock of her—whatever it was he was looking for seemed to satisfy him (or piss him off, who knew with the stoicism) and he makes no move to engage her in conversation. A fitted com-link had been placed in her ear by Hill whose hard eyes had made her opinion of this heard louder then any words could so that they had a way of speaking with her—Natasha and Steve had left to argue in the hallway, she had been able to hear the muffled sounds even through the thick door.

 

Sitting in a lotus position, wrists at his knees in a zen position, the Soldier had kept himself buckled into the restrictive tac gear he had worn to the missions days ago, his hair was lanky from being unwashed but since Barnes had it cut it was less noticeable. Taking a cue from him she seats herself directly across from the Soldier, close enough to touch the glass of the cage between them, but still several feet away, in a mirrored position (only she had her hands clasped in her lap, where they wrung and wriggled tucked away safely).

 

Crackling to life she winces at the noise the comm makes, closing her eyes against the ringing in her ear she tries not to let it be too noticeable only he must had seen it because in the literal blink of an eyes he is crouched down on one knee close to the glass in front of her—eyes evaluating once more.

 

“I'm fine—just a headache.” Not a total lie, three days of sleep deprivation on top of her work load (which she refused to shirk on because there were people who depended on her) was a sure recipe for a migraine.

 

 _'Sorry, the frequency was too high—interesting effect though'_ it's Natasha's voice on the link, she's a little surprised until she recalls that the Widow is the expect in interrogation (she is so far above her fucking pay grade right now) and had probably won her argument with Steve. 'Communication is limited like this, touch your hair if the answer is eyes and play with your ring if the answer is no—got it?'

 

Nervous fingers come up to tuck a bit of stray hair behind her ear to confirm to Natasha that she understood. It was simple enough, natural but she doubts it will go unnoticed by someone as well trained as the Winter Soldier so Nat must simply want her not to break character, to draw his attention back to his surroundings instead of helping him reintegrate into being Barnes again.

 

 _'Talk, Lewis—same as you would on a normal day'_ the Widow instructs.

 

“I was thinking of maybe trying the blueberry syrup today—Hill really seems to like it and if the bees ever die off like everyone keeps telling us they are, we are gonna need to get used to syrup.” her voice sounds thin but gains strength as she talks—it helps that he's decided to giver his back, which he props against the glass wall, a knee raised and one left stretched out before him. She knows from experience this is the pose Bucky takes when she is going on one of her rants about the Minions—he's settling in to listen, head tilted just the tiniest bit her way.

 

(It's easier not looking at his eyes to pretend this is just another Sunday talk)

 

“Thor's in Asgard with Jane, so the bacon may not be quite as good—cause that is a man who can cook bacon—but I'm sure I can talk Clint into making the omelets, you know he likes doing his little circus act with them.”

 

Here Natasha waits for a natural break in her speech pattern and instructs her to, _'Promise him you will bring some tomorrow.'_

 

“I'll bring you some tomorrow, I'd pinky swear but you know I'm good on my word.” Genuine concern rises in her, she doesn't see any discarded dishes or containers and knowing the way he metabolized food she knew he needed quite a bit of it to be comfortable—she wonder if the Solider would eat with the same appreciation for flavor as Bucky or if it was just fuel to him.

* * *

 

The first batch burns, so she has to start again—there's no music playing, just the clicking sound of whisk to metal bowls—the second pair comes out perfect, she uses Bruce's kitchenette after he'd seen her burn the first patch and suggested some privacy might help. Grateful she agrees, he doesn't hover just leaves her to her cooking, heading back to his Lab. When Natasha enters Bruce's quarters she just sits at the tiny table full of half finished notes, careful not to move them—it's a care that anyone whose been around scatterbrained geniuses will pick up, they all worked in some form of organized chaos.

 

“Almost done.”

 

Humming out a response Natasha just watches her work on putting the last touches on the pancakes, cutting up the strawberries, her black eye was a thing of the past (healed too quick not to have some kind of aid and she adds it under the ever growing tallies of questions about the Red Room that she had). The blade bites into her thumb leaving a shallow cut, sucking her thumb into her mouth she moves to toss the bloody strawberry out. From a new looking first aid kit, which came standard with all rooms—no doubt Pepper's doing—she pulls out an antiseptic wipe and a bandaid.

 

“You have to be more careful.”

 

“S'just a cut--” popping the thumb out of her mouth she lets the Widow take a stinging swipe with the wipe and but a bandaid on her (they are Avenger's theme, this one had tiny Cap shields on it)

 

Giving her a look she goes to the rubbish bin to throw out the wrappings, turning back she steals a strawberry from the cartoon, chewing on it thoughtfully as if choosing her words.

 

“Lingchi is the art of the slow death, a Chinese practice which wasn't outlawed until 1905—roughly it translates to Death by One Thousand Cuts. Don't underestimate a small cut just because the other's haven't come yet.”

 

“Is this some kind of warning or a pep talk cause honestly I'm a little confused. Could be the blood loss.”

 

Rolling her eyes Natasha just finishes her strawberry, Darcy didn't know why the Widow and Hill had taken her under their wings but she was glad to have them and their rock solid strength. Sure they would never really be normal—what with H.Y.D.R.A and Aliens and Gods, but they reminded her of Charlotte with their quiet understanding and infinite patience with her snark.

 

“Ms. Lewis, Miss Romanov—Captain Rogers is at the door requesting you.”

 

“J.A.R.V.I.S tell Steve we will be there soon.” flicking the stem of her little snack into the bin with expert aim the redhead picks up the tray from the counter (good, Darcy had been afraid she'd drop it cause that was her luck—Nat must have felt similarly) “Come on, showtime.”

 

“Yeah, okay—no sec.” Pouring out coffee into two travel mug she feels a little bad about leaving the smell of fresh brewed Joe lingering in Bruce's rooms—she knew how much he missed the daily caffeine intake. Making a mental note to make it up to him she scoops several spoonfuls of sugar into one of the cups and just adds cream to the other.

* * *

Ear piece in place, tray balanced precariously in her arms she approaches the hand off window of the cage—where items could be passed through, presumably food for when Bruce was coming down but still on edge and needed food.

 

“Morning Soldier--”

 

She been instructed not to call him by name , Steve had tried that last night and the Soldier had thrown a massive temper tantrum (Hill's words). The room was a little roughed up, the cot they had put in for him was a mess of mangled metal—the mattress laid out on the floor now with the sheets tucked into corners with Military precision.

 

“Breakfast as promised.”

 

_'Take a bite of the each item and drink from the cup before you give it to him'_

 

Picking up the plastic fork—which had brought another round of argument from Hill, Rogers and Nat about the dangers of handing it to him—she cuts into a fluffy pancake with the side making sure to grab a strawberry with it and honey and takes a healthy bite from the each of the stacks she'd made to accommodate a Super Soldier's appetite

 

“Just so you don't think there is any funny business.”

 

Making a face she brings the travel mug with his coffee to her lips, giving him a look of exasperation before taking a sip of the too sweet liquid, “Ugh, I swear I don't know how you drink that. It's a crime against coffee” making a face she screws the cover back on before putting it in the little drawer too.

 

Closing the drawer she waits for him to gather the meal, only he doesn't move from his place—a few more minutes tick by before she recalls how skittish Barnes had been around people and food that first breakfast they shared together nearly a year ago. Leaving the food she makes her way to the other side of the cage, where she had been seated before and sits down in the lotus again—pulling out her phone she ignores him. Finally he grabs the food, a quick glance up tells her he's tearing into with the quick efficiency of someone unused the luxury of savoring food.

 

In record time he's done, he leaves the items in the drawer—which is a score for Team Steve—closing it with a more forceful shove then necessary. Purposeful strides bring him to the spot he'd occupied yesterday (she tries not to note the way his legs look as he walks closer or how his tongue is licking away a bead of honey from the corner of his mouth—it was hard because a few weeks ago she had been kissing those lips). Taking a sip from her cup she gesture with it at his own, unscrewing his lid he takes a sip and for a moment she can see his lids flutter briefly, Barnes was a sucker for coffee and his body remembered if not his mind.

 

“I'm a little concerned about how fast you ate that—am I losing my touch? Should I just go buy breakfast instead of making it myself later? Those bites reminded me how hungry I am.” her tone is light, mostly because what she was saying is true—she wasn't shy about her love of food and she'd forgone breakfast due to nerves.

 

The Soldier gives her look she doesn't understand from the corner of her eye, but she powers through with her chatter—filling in with all the goings of the Towers, tells him about the Minions and how they had an on going prank war that she was torn about stopping but knew it would escalate to some catastrophe. Their hour is up and standing to leave is easier this time, Nat gives her some final instructions.

 

_'Ask him if he wants you to come back.'_

 

“Same time tomorrow? Unless you're tired of having me talk your ear off—it's just you're a good listener with the whole, silent and deadly thing. I won't come back if you don't want me to—you don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

 

“Come back.”

 

(Hope flutters in her heart.)

* * *

Steve comes to her office, Karen is beside herself no doubt from the IM she sends with it's multiple exclamation points and a winky face. Giving the okay for him to come in, because despite her exuberance Karen was a professional of the highest caliber and would bar even Cap if she'd said no (best secretary ever), it's a few seconds before he comes in—closing her door behind him. They don't speak for a a few moments, while he doesn't have the dark circles under his eyes like she had Darcy sees the exhaustion mirrored in his gaze.

 

“Have you slept at all, Steve?”

 

“About as much as you—”

 

“Touche.”

 

“Seems like a hollow victory.”

 

It seems like he's about to try to plaster on a smile before he gives up, leaning forward to cradle his head in his hands—this is her office, touches of her personality are found in every corner but still she feels like she's intruding on the normally unflappable man.

 

“Steve, it's not your fault—you can't possibility be blaming yourself for this.”

 

“I took him on that mission, it was my call on what operatives to bring. My call.”

 

“Steve.”

 

“It's worse then when he fell—because if he was dead he would at least have an end. Now he's just there.”

 

Before she knows it she's standing beside him, a hand on his shoulder, he looks up and those thick lashes of his are clumping with gathering moisture. Enveloping him in her arms as best she can Darcy lets her head drop on his shoulder—allowing him some privacy to show his grief—rubbing his back she encourages him to let it out with the support of her silence. He didn't want words, nothing she could say would make any of this better for either of them but to some degree she understood what he was going through.

 

“And despite having him here, seeing how calm he was—how well he was adjusting do you know I resented you? I had just gotten my best friend back, and in waltzes some dame who spins his head—makes him act like his old self, makes me obsolete. Even now, as the Solider, he responds to you and a part of me wants to be angry with you. How can I though, with your smiles and your care—you are impossible to hate. ”

 

Shame colors his words and his arms are nearly too tight around her. How had she not seen it, was she blind to Steve's feelings? Yet, she couldn't regret the time she'd spent with Barnes, would never regret it because in the end it really had fuck all to do with Steve. Her first instinct is to fight back, to rip into him with her sharp tongue but then she thinks back on the afternoon he'd spent drawing doodles on her cast, the taste of the apple pie he'd baked for her.

 

Pulling back she lets go of him, turning to grab a tissue for herself and for him, “I'm not going to take your place, I could never.” he takes it without meeting her eyes, “I consider you my friend, Steve—and Barnes would go to hell and back for you. I'm not selfish enough to think I could ever be the only person in his heart, but I do hope we can learn to share his time, because I am not backing off. Not unless he asks me too.”

 

“God, no—please, I don't want that. It's all coming out wrong. You are my friend and Bucky deserves to be with someone like you. I just, needed to clear the air, I tend to attack my problems head on. Should of maybe though this one through a bit better—I'm shit at improve speeches, they never let me off script on the USO tour.”

 

Laughing she wipes her eyes, the sound comes out a little hysterical but they both ignore it, “Well, Rogers, as your friend I gotta tell you. Easy on the lemon juice next time, other wise it was a great pie. Did I ever thank you for that?”

 

“It was my pleasure.”

 

“Now, about you asking out Hill.”

 

“Darcy, no.”

 

“Darcy, yes.”

* * *

Entering the cage area with Steve at her back they've decided to tag team the Soldier this time, trying a new strategy they'd discussed in her office. Immediately the Soldier rises and makes his way to the drawer, he glances sharply at Steve—who for his part does nothing but smile lightly, pleasant as always. Metal fingers tap at the drawer, which can only be opened from the outside.

 

“Sorry, Soldier—no chow today. I was running late, didn't even get any myself but I'm sure we can find you something if you are hungry.” He taps again at the drawer.

 

“Alright, alright—you know using your big boy words would work better.” pushing the drawer to the other side she watches him grab something from the pocket of his pants, she can't see what it is because he drops it in the drawer and pushes it back out. Gingerly she opens the drawer and raises a brow at him when she picks up a protein bar.

 

“Eat.”

 

“Did you save this for me?”

 

He nods and glances at Steve as if she shouldn't be sharing information around him and she resists the urge to wince—how would she feel if the roles were reversed, no wonder Steve had been so shock up between the lack of sleep and over thinking all of this.

 

“What about you, aren't you hungry.”

 

He just repeats the earlier command and goes to sit in their regular corner, looking down at the protein bar, it's a little warm from his body heat she tries to puzzle out the why to this. But Natasha in her ear has already figured it out.

 

_'You told him you hadn't eaten, so he is rationing for you.'_

 

How often had Bucky done much the same, make sure she was feed because between taking care of R&D and keeping the Science Triad alive she often forgot her own meals and when she did Barnes was always there with a protein bar or an apple, some little snack she could have that would trigger her appetite to life and she'd go searching for food—often making them both or the Team dinner.

 

For this session she and Steve had brought supplies, he set up a little away from the two of them where he had a vantage point to draw and took out his sketch pad and pencils. Darcy settle against with her back against the glass instead of facing him—making sure her head was turned toward him same as his was turned toward hers. Out of her bag she pulls out a book, protein bar unwrapped and held between her teeth, opening it to the bookmarked page. A little nervous about this part she faces the Soldier and makes sure he sees her take a large chunk out of the protein bar, with a wink she brings her knees up to support the book—chewing and swallowing before she speaks.

 

“Thought you might like some entertainment?” posing it like a question she waits for his permission, it was important, Natasha had told her, that he feels like he has choice—that it's impressed upon him, because weapons didn't get to chose and he needed to be reminded he was more. That stiff nod comes against and she takes a deep breath before starting.

 

 

_TURN, O Libertad, for the war is over,_

_(From it and all henceforth expanding, doubting no more, resolute, sweeping the world,)_

_Turn from lands retrospective, recording proofs of the past;_

_From the singers that sing the trailing glories of the past;_

_From the chants of the feudal world—the triumphs of kings, slavery, caste;_

 

It takes a moment to find the right rhythm for the words, she stumbles over a few of them but by the second stanza she's got a good flow going.

 

  _Turn to the world, the triumphs reserv’d and to come—give up that backward world;_

_Leave to the singers of hitherto—give them the trailing past;_

_But what remains, remains for singers for you—wars to come are for you;_

_(Lo! how the wars of the past have duly inured to you—and the wars of the present also  inure:)_

 

After the night at her grandparent's orchard when she found out he liked Whitman Darcy had bought herself a copy of Whitman's work recommended by the woman who worked in the bookstore she had visited. This particular piece was highlighted because it reminded her of Bucky—the message resounded with her.

 — _Then turn, and be not alarm’d, O Libertad—turn your undying face,_

_To where the future, greater than all the past,_

_Is swiftly, surely preparing for you_

 

“Whitman.”

 

“Your favorite, would you like to hear another?”

 

“Yes.”

* * *

It goes on like that for a few more days, Darcy and Steve switch between reading or sharing stories—or bantering playfully between themselves. The Soldier doesn't join in but sometimes a phrase bring a glimmer of recognition to his eyes or he finishes a story Steve is telling. She convinces him to stop giving her protein bars by bringing down breakfast for the three of them—he always watches her eat before eating his own once he's satisfied she's eaten enough.

 

(It would be endearing if not for the situation.)

 

Until one day she is telling a story about getting kicked out of a movie theater with Jane because of her constant bashing of the film, because god damn it she had spent like twelve dollars on those tickets and she really wanted to see the movie and he is just back. Steve had made a face when she mentioned the pricing of tickets and launches into a grandpa story about 'his day' that has her rolling her eyes when she sees the expression on the Solider's face—on Bucky's face. Looking at her face like he's trying to memorize her.

 

“Darcy?”

 

Kneeling in front of the cage she lays her hands on the glass for support because her knees are weak with relief, she hears Steve moving to the front of the cage, working through the codes to open it. His clumsy fingers fumble the codes twice before Natasha is in the room taking over for Steve.

 

“It's about goddamned time, Barnes” she calls out, she has the syringe in hand because neither Darcy or Steve can be trusted when it comes to the Soldier—they are invested, so Nat will gauge him to see if he should be let out. “Any longer and I would have killed you myself if only to stop the two of them from talking.”

 

“Sorry, Romanov—I'll try to keep a better schedule next time I lose my mind.”

 

“Least you could do.” she steps to the side, allowing him passage when he makes to leave the cage.

 

Steve is there to embrace him in the man hug to end all man hugs (we are talking two arms here), holding herself back she allows Steve to have his moment, though it takes everything she has not to run to Barnes. When they pull back she notes that his eyes seek her out, follow her movements in a less intense version of the Soldier as she approaches, she can still see him there though—dormant now, but just under the surface.

 

Stepping closer he looms over her, his posture still the straight backed confidence of the Soldier—not quite returned to the laid back slouch yet—the tac gear is smooth against her cheek, she falls into his embrace hearing the strong thrum of his heartbeat. Wrinkling her nose she disentangles herself from him, on tip toes she lays a quick kiss to his lips and backs off when he follows her in hopes of deepening it.

 

“You need a shower before we go anywhere near this train of thought Bucky.”

 

“Yes, Ma'am”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I am officially going to start writing some of the previous chapter and future chapter's from Bucky's POV. Also, I would like you all to know that over on tumblr and even here I do take prompts for this pairing if you ever have an idea you want to see written up.
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments and love you all send my way. Makes it all worth while.


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